Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

that there’s some sort of curse attached to it.’

      She laughed. ‘I don’t appreciate having my mind read. I was worried that it would be bad luck to wear it, since I’m not really the laird’s lady.’

      ‘There’s no need to worry, I promise you. Generations of Drummond men have married for the good of Strone Bridge before all else, and that’s exactly what I’ve done,’ Innes said. ‘In our own way, we’re carrying on a tradition. Drummonds don’t marry for love.’ His expression darkened. ‘It’s when they try to, that’s when they become cursed.’

      She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she was afraid, looking at his face. He could only be thinking of himself. It was so obvious; she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. That was why he was so insistent he’d never fall in love. Because he already had, and it had come to nothing.

      She felt slightly sick. She oughtn’t to. The pair of them were even better matched than she had realised, both of them burned by that most revered of emotions. She should be relieved to finally understand. Actually, there was no cause for her to feel anything at all. Innes’s heart was no concern of hers.

      ‘We should go,’ Innes said, dragging his mind back from whatever dark place he had gone to. ‘I want to get the formal Rescinding out of the way before too much whisky had been taken. What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

      Ainsley managed to smile. ‘Just my husband, in his full Highland regalia, looking every bit the part of the laird. I have not told you how very handsome you look.’

      He tucked her hand in his, smiling down at her wickedly, his black mood seemingly vanished. ‘Do I live up to your expectations of a wild Highlander?’

      Her own mood lightened. ‘I don’t know.’ Ainsley gave him a teasing smile. ‘It’s a shame we have a party to attend, else I would say I was looking forward to finding out.’

      * * *

      A fire had been burning constantly in the huge hearth of the Great Hall for the past few days. The mantel was of carved oak set on two huge marble pillars, and the hearth itself was big enough to hold a massive log cut from a very old tree in one whole piece. The Great Hall was a long, narrow room done in the Elizabethan style, though it had been created less than a hundred years before. The walls were panelled to head height, then timbered and rendered, giving the impression of great age, as did the vaulted oak ceiling. Ainsley stood at the far end of the room, where a balconied recess had been formed with yet more oak, this time in the form of three arches rather like a rood screen.

      The hall was full of people, very few of whom she recognised. Innes had not wanted anyone from his old life here. When Ainsley had enquired about inviting other local gentry, having heard the name Caldwell mentioned as the owners of the next estate, she thought he had flinched, though she could not be sure. ‘We’ve enough to do, to win the hearts and minds of our own,’ he’d said quickly. ‘Let’s keep it a Strone Bridge celebration.’ Everyone present, save herself, Felicity and Robert Alexander had been born here, or had married someone who had been born here. Which for now included her, though she did not really count.

      Innes was standing a few feet away, holding one of those intense conversations with his surveyor that seemed to require Robert Alexander to flap his arms about a lot. The model of the pier and the new road was to be revealed after the Rescinding. Mr Alexander was nervous. She could see that Innes was reassuring him.

      The laird. Her husband, in his Highland dress, which he claimed to have worn just for her, though she knew he was only teasing. He had opted for the short jacket, and not the long, cloak-like plaid, of a dark wool that was fitted tight across his shoulders, the front cut in a curve, finishing at his neat waist. Under it, he wore a waistcoat and a white shirt. And below it, the kilt, a long length of wool folded into narrow pleats and held in place by a thick leather belt with a large silver buckle. When he turned, as he did now, granting her a delightful view of his rear, the pleats swung out. As she suspected, he had very shapely legs, not at all scrawny, but muscled. His long, knit hose covered what Mhairi called a fine calf, and Ainsley had to agree. There was a small jewelled dagger tucked into one of his hose, and another, longer dagger attached to his belt. The kilt stopped at his knee. He could not possibly be wearing undergarments.

      He caught her looking at him and came to join her. ‘I would very much like to ask you what you’re thinking,’ he said softly into her ear, ‘but if you told me, I reckon I’d have to carry you off and have my wicked Highland way with you, and we’ve a lot of ceremony to get through, unfortunately.’

      ‘And a party to attend afterwards.’

      ‘Actually, Eoin was just telling me that it’s customary for the laird and his lady to celebrate their new life alone.’

      ‘I read nothing of that in the book.’

      ‘It’s known as the—the Bonding,’ Innes said.

      She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. ‘You made that up.’

      ‘It’s one of the new traditions I’m thinking of establishing.’ Innes smiled one of his sinful smiles that made her feel as if she were blushing inside. ‘What do you say?’

      ‘I would certainly not wish to break with tradition on a night like this. And I would not wish all that effort you’ve made with your Highland dress to go to waste.’

      His eyes darkened. She felt the flush inside her spreading. ‘If it were not for the Rescinding, I would carry you off right now.’

      ‘I have gone to an enormous effort to get this Rescinding organised, Laird. You are not going to spoil it for me.’

      ‘No. I would not dream of it. I’m truly grateful, Ainsley.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘But just as soon as it’s over, my lady...’

      ‘I know. A Bonding! Whatever that entails.’

      ‘Haven’t you imagined it? I know I have. Lots of times.’

      ‘Innes! Let us concentrate on one ceremony before we start discussing another.’

      He laughed. ‘Very well. I see your Miss Blair conferring with Eoin. Again. Is she spoken for?’ Innes asked.

      ‘She’s wedded to her career,’ Ainsley replied.

      ‘Do you know, you have a way of pursing up your mouth just at one corner when you fib, as if you’re trying to swallow whatever it is you’re determined not to say.’

      ‘I was not fibbing.’

      ‘You weren’t telling the truth, either.’ Innes smiled down at her. ‘I suspect your Felicity is a woman of many secrets.’ Innes put his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. ‘I’m not really interested in Miss Blair’s private life, nor indeed Eoin’s. I’m more interested in our own. But first, it’s time for the Rescinding. Are you ready?’

      ‘What if I forget something?’ Ainsley asked, suddenly panicked.

      ‘You’ve made the whole thing go like a dream so far. Now all you have to do is to remember all the promises I make, lest I forget any. And I must forgive and forget.’ Innes rolled his eyes. ‘I cannot believe my father did this and meant it.’

      * * *

      The chair, like most of the Great Hall, was carved in oak and had been polished to a soft gleam. The canopy that covered it was of the same faded green velvet as the cushion. After handing Ainsley into the much simpler chair by his side, Innes sat down. He felt part foolish, part—good grief, surely not proud? No, but it was something close. The ghosts of his ancestors had got into his blood. Or having all those eyes on him had gone to his head. Or maybe it was this chair, and the hall, which was only ever used for formal occasions. His father’s birthday had always been celebrated here. The annual party for the tenants and cotters. His and Malcolm’s coming of age.

      No. This was a time to look forward, not back. Innes jumped up. The room fell silent. He picked up the sword that lay at his feet,